Free Dead By Dusk by Heather Graham Page B

that it was just great. Suzette, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that there might have been anything other than a working relationship between Grant and Stephanie, had somewhat latched on to Grant, for which Stephanie realized she actually blessed her. Grant was drawn to the other side of the table. Doug was to her left, and a free chair wound up at her right.
    â€œWe need the extra chair?” Arturo asked.
    â€œClay is coming in right behind us,” Doug said.
    â€œThat’s right—Clay isn’t here. Strange, I thought he was headed here before Suzette, Lena, and I started over,” Stephanie said.
    â€œRan into him outside the cottage. He was giving it a good go-round,” Drew explained.
    â€œOne of our cast has disappeared,” Lena explained.
    â€œDisappeared?” Carlo Ponti said, intrigued.
    â€œSkedaddled, as we say in the West,” Drew drawled.
    â€œYou’re from Boston,” Doug reminded him.
    â€œShe’s gone, however you want to say it,” Lena explained.
    â€œShould you call the police?” Grant suggested.
    â€œWell, I think the laws in Italy are pretty much the same as they are in the States,” Drew said pragmatically. “She packed up and left. Apparently, this corner of Italy wasn’t exciting enough for her.”
    â€œShe’d been talking about taking off for Rome, and we’re assuming that’s what she did—since all her belongings are gone,” Suzette said.
    â€œDr. Ponti, your profession is digging for clues, isn’t it?” Doug asked.
    â€œAh, but I’m a detective of ancient artifacts,” Ponti said. “I dig in the ground for objects and people who are there—and stay there. The past rarely moves around on one.”
    â€œThere’s Clay, coming now,” Doug noted.
    Stephanie turned to see that Clay was coming across the room to join them. He was staring intently at Carlo and Grant as he came to the chair by her side.
    Arturo performed the introductions. Grant and Carlo stood to shake hands with Clay, then the three men sat down. Stephanie wasn’t sure why, but it seemed that a new electricity had come to the table.
    The men were wary of one another. She wondered why, or if it was just an instinctive alpha-type male thing going on between Grant and Clay. They spoke politely enough to one another, and yet there was something there, a strange, underlying hostility.
    â€œJust curious,” Grant said, “but if you all knew that the woman was unhappy here, and she mentioned leaving, why are you so worried?”
    â€œWe’re not so worried,” Stephanie said. “Just concerned.”
    â€œBut you think you’re going to find a clue to her disappearance by searching her empty room . . . or bungalow, wherever she was living?” Grant said.
    Stephanie turned to Arturo. “Maybe we should call the police.”
    He sighed. “The ‘police’ are sitting on the other side of the café.”
    â€œReally?” Stephanie said, turning.
    At a table in the opposite corner a handsome young Italian man with very dark hair and eyes was sitting with an older, slightly graying, broad-shouldered fellow.
    â€œCome. I’ll introduce you,” Arturo said.
    Stephanie stood, following Arturo.
    The two men rose the minute they saw her coming with Arturo. They greeted one another warmly with a quick exchange in Italian, then Stephanie was introduced to Franco Mercurio the elder, and his son, Franco Mercurio the younger. The elder was called Merc, and the younger, Franco.
    As they spoke, Stephanie felt the warm sensation of someone behind her; then a hand fell on her shoulder.
    It was Clay Barton.
    He had come to be supportive, she assumed. He introduced himself with ease, explained that one of their number had left quite abruptly, and that they would appreciate it if the officers would look into the situation.
    They agreed immediately.
    â€œIf